


The Day

by tommy_the_hunter



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Memories, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Wakanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 12:54:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14593464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tommy_the_hunter/pseuds/tommy_the_hunter
Summary: This is my very first Marvel story. That I finished. And... I don't know, writing it was an impulse, I was so angry after watching Infinity War, I'm sure you understand. Please, be kind, it's short and it's awful, but I enjoyed writing it and it would be nice if somebody enjoyed reading it...Thanks for visiting, I hope it's not as bad as I think :)





	The Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first Marvel story. That I finished. And... I don't know, writing it was an impulse, I was so angry after watching Infinity War, I'm sure you understand. Please, be kind, it's short and it's awful, but I enjoyed writing it and it would be nice if somebody enjoyed reading it...  
> Thanks for visiting, I hope it's not as bad as I think :)

NOW  
  
It is too much. Everything surrounding him holds the particular vibrations and scent of Bucky’s body. And the wind whistling through the roofs holes is quietly singing their song, the only song both of them loved and never argued over. The melody that played on an old gramophone that Steve’s mother had left him. The one that Rogers brought to Barnes family house, after she died. When he non officialy moved in.  
It’s been so long ago. Feels like centuries. Yet just like it’s happened only the day before. But no. This time he doesn’t have strong arms to melt into, a soothing voice singing him to sleep, warm body that would give him the so needed now heat. All he has is his things, some blankets and little figures and stones that Bucky has been able to collect during his Wakanda vacation. And still some ash in his hands. Ash that used to be his Bucky. His soul mate, his pal. His love.  
And he is crying. Not like before, not like in the moment he’s fallen on his knees in a spot Barnes had disappeared, managing only to say Steve’s name, before his body fell apart. No. Not small, shocked tears are forming in his eyes. His cheeks are so wet, as if the rain has been falling on his face for an hour. His hands are shaking. He’s sitting on the ground, on the sheets Bucky used to sleep. The sheets they would...  
The memory hits him like a thunderstruck. Their last time together, right before he went out again, with Natasha and Sam, after their connection with Wanda broke. It feels like a dream, like it never happened, but Steve remembers perfectly, how happy they were, even if only for few moments. It’s been two weeks. Only two weeks, but still too long. It shouldn’t bother him, it didn’t. They were separated for most of their life, and their first meeting after years of thinking his love had died in that fall, had to be a hand to hand life or death fight, and his only family that happened to be still alive didn’t remember who he was.  
Steve lies down, out of breath. He can’t recall the exact feeling, but he’s pretty sure this is how asthma feels like. But he’s not supposed to feel that way, no. He’s no longer the skinny, small kid having anxiety and asthma attacks every time something bad happens. Yet it does happen, and he can’t breathe and can’t stop whimpering.  
Then again the scent of Bucky is slowly rocking him to sleep, and he sleeps, sobbing, legs curled up to his chest, squeezing a blanket in his fists, hair a mess fallen on his forehead and eyes. And he dreams, and the dreams bring him nothing but his love and pain.

THEN  
  
„I thought I’ve lost you.” He whispers, standing few feet away from freshly rescued Steve Rogers, a stubborn kid from Brooklyn, that doesn’t know when to let go and gets beaten constantly in dark, smelly alleys. „Don’t you ever disappear on me like that. You hear me, Rogers? Don’t you dare!” Bucky’s voice is low and quiet, but he can hear a certain tone that means he went over the line.  
„I’m sorry, Buck.” Steve answers, unbuttoning his dirty and wet shirt, trying not to wince as he slides it off his arms. Every muscle in his body hurts. He knows he’s going to be sick. Getting into a fight wasn’t planned, nor the rain was. But that’s normal, right? Raining in September. „He called you...”  
„I don’t care what he called me, Steve.” Barnes cuts him off, coming closer to the blonde boy. He sighs, then notices his pal is shivering, still trying not to show he’s cold and all wet. Bucky raises his hands to Steve’s arms and hesitates before touching them, because he’s aware of the bruises that didn’t have the time to show up on the pale and cold skin. After ten seconds he decides to ignore his brain’s suggestions and tenderly strokes the smaller man’s arms that tremble under his touch. „You run away all the time. That’s who you are. I understand.” He lays his forehead on blonde’s head. „Steve... I couldn’t find you. You know? You went so far, I had to run for over an hour to finally find traces. And I’m not happy that they were your shoes, Steve.”  
Rogers snorts, but doesn’t sound funny even for a little bit.  
„You were worried about my shoes.” He asks, the question sounding not quite like one, more like a thesis. But Barnes knows that he doesn’t mean that. Knows that was supposed to be a joke, but still sad pitched. „I’m really sorry, Buck. You know that,, right?”  
Rogers can feel his best friend’s head nodding and then his arms surrounding him. He melts into the touch and focuses on breathing normally. Being so close to Bucky’s body makes his heart beat faster every time, ever since he realised he feels something stronger than a friendship, something not natural for the society, the government, the world. If anyone knew about the nature of their relationship, they would be judged and most likely put in prison or mental hospital.  
But both of them know that what is between them, the feeling is real. It is natural, it is what God wants them to be. Because if he didn’t, would they be so much in love? Steve wishes God would come down to Earth and tell the human race everything is the way it’s supposed to be and no one should ever be judged by their skin color, who they love, what language they speak.  
He’s unable to think, because suddenly he feels warm breath on his neck and inhales deeply. He’s trying not to act surprised, but he can never fool his best fella, he’s not that good at pretending. Not if it comes to James Buchanan Barnes, who is currently kissing his shoulder, then neck, jaw, finally his mouth. The kiss is delicate and soft and too short.  
Steve opens his eyes, just to see his pal near their old gramophone, putting on a vinyl. After few seconds he hears a melody, the one that plays every evening, and they hug and dance slowly to the sond of trumpets. And all that exists are their soft kisses and silent breaths and their bodies so close to each other in the dark room, and only one other person with them, Harry James and his Velvet Moon.

NOW  
  
He wakes up sobbing. He’s not sure how much time had passed, because it’s still bright outside and his cheeks are still wet. Or has he been crying all the time? That would explain the headache.  
And he closes his eyes just for a second to remember how it felt to be so small and fragile and they way Bucky used to protect him with every cell in his own body, like he was some kind of a porcelain figure, worth millions and millions. Before everything, before the war, before they took Bucky from him for the first time. And he was angry. Yes, he was furious. First of all: he wanted to be able to fight, to protect the people, the country, to stop Hitler, to stop Nazis. Second of all: he didn’t have his soulmate around him anymore.  
Not for long, he remembers.  
The same evening as his Bucky became sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, a strange and interesting persona, dr Erskine asked him if he wanted to kill Nazis.  
He takes a deep breath, trying his best not to start weeping again. "Stop being such a crybaby, Rogers", Bucky would say. "You know your job. Do it. You can’t stop now, you know that. When... if I’m gone again. If I’m no longer around."  
So he stands up.  
He puts the blanket down, folding it carefully.  
And he walks out, heading towards the city.

 

"The king is dead." Is all he can hear all around. People are confused and many of them are mourning, after their loved ones, their neighbours, children, parents, half of the Wakanda population had turned to ashes, the same moment...  
His Bucky.  
He shakes his head and makes himself look proffesional, though he knows that doesn’t matter now. Most of those who are alive don’t even look at him. And he’s glad they ignore his presence, because the last thing he wants now is for them to start asking questions and maybe even blaming him for what happened.  
He is guilty though, isn’t he?  
If he wasn’t so concerned about Vision, if he let him do what he had wanted, maybe half of the universe would still be alive.  
He mentally slaps himself for thinking that, but that’s true. Vision died anyway. What would have changed?  
He thinks about Wanda. About what she was forced to see, to experience. First she had to destroy the Mind Stone, which meant destroying the love of her life, the only person that truly understood her. Then she had to look at Thanos brutally taking her boyfriend’s life with the stone, crushing his head and tossing his body on the ground.  
„Fuck.” He murmurs to himself. He was able to see the relief on the girl’s face, when she started to disappear. She wanted to be with her lover. She didn’t want to live without him.  
And he understands it. Because the first thought after he felt the ash that used to be Bucky in his palms, the first thought was „My God” and the second „What am I going to do without you?”. And he still feels lost. And he still hurts.  
But he needs to carry on, right? He has to make it right. He needs to talk to the others.  
So he enters the room in which they used to meet when he occasionally visited Wakanda officialy. They would sit together, drinking and eating and discussing. The warm smile of T’Challa always cheering up everybody. The seriousness of Nat and comforting presence of Whtite Wolf right beside him. Steve doesn’t know if anyone had been aware of their relationship and he’d rather no one was.  
Suddenly he remembers the last time Bucky died on him. Though he didn’t die, it looked like it. And that day he realised he couldn’t handle it with drinking and forgetting who he was. Unlike before the serum, when he needed a glass of wine to be totally drunk and all clingy and weepy. That would either amuse his pal or make him angry.  
He needs to ask Thor how they brew his special ale. The only thing he knows that can help him relax a little bit and blurry the world for a while.  
Just as he closes the door behind him, the eyes of everyone turn to him. And there is the silence, and the pity. And sadness. He slowly looks up on people that were his family, his friends. But he can’t find Sam. Wanda. T’Challa. Vision.  
Bucky.  
Where is Tony, anyway? The thought surprises him, because he knows that Stark had disappeared right before aliens invaded Wakanda. And he finds it sad that he doesn’t expect him to come back. A part of him is sure he’s died too, somewhere in space, probably all alone and scared. Something bigger is coming. He remembers those words and now they eat him from inside out, because he realised that Tony did warn them, but they wouldn’t believe him.  
As he stands behind the chair that he used to sit in, he stays silent. As does everybody else. They just look at each other and look like someone punched them in the stomach.

 

„Captain?” Thor says after everyone leave the room. They decided who has to take charge now. For a while. And She wasn’t happy with that fact, but there was no other way right now. Maybe in few days things will change, but right now Shuri is the rightful succesor of king T’Challa. „Are you feeling alright?”  
Steve looks up again, with a unsuccesful attempt to smile.  
„I’m okay.” He clears his throat, because out of nowhere there is a lump in his oesophagus. „How are you handling all a’ this?” he asks, because he’s aware that his friend had lost people too. Bruce had told them everything. Loki. Heimdall. Half of the Asgardian survivors. His father.  
Thor however manages to smile, though there is sadness in his blue eyes and a visible shade of tears forming under his eyelids. But he doesn’t let them flow. He straightens up and approaches Steve, stopping few feet from him.  
„I saw my brother die again. I couldn’t save my people. I had the opportunity to end Thanos, yet I didn’t do it, because I was foolish enough to think that his heart is my target. And then people started dying.” He looks down, now his smile looking more fake than Widow’s hair colour. „Thanos... paid a price when he did that.”  
Rogers nods, still not quite comfortable in the position he’s been put into. For the first time he doesn’t want to command the Avengers. He wants to let go of everything. To cry himself to death somewhere in the jungle, but he’s perfectly aware of the role he’s got to play. The role he promised Bucky to play, even after he dies, even with no will to live. "You need to force yourself to want to keep on living. Don’t you dare doing anything stupid, you hear me, Rogers?".  
„What now?” he asks himself, not quite aware that he’s saying it out loud.  
„We avenge.”  
Thor’s dark and strong voice makes him look up again, to find the Odinson looking in the distance, just like in movies. But he’s right. Steve knows it.  
„We avenge.” He repeats after the god, turning to look through the wall sized window, at the sun slowly setting over Wakanda.


End file.
